


Fright Night

by Kokolo



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Brotherhood of Mutants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Making Out, Scary Movies, Sharing a Bed, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokolo/pseuds/Kokolo
Summary: The Brotherhood try scary movie night, and it goes about as well as Quicksilver expected. But maybe it’s not all bad.
Relationships: Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on my Tumblr August 26, 2015.](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/127648748034/fic-fright-night-15)
> 
> Edited by the forever fab Mugsandpugs <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trash kids are the best kids  
> good lord Todd you are terrible your taste is bad and you should feel bad  
> but I love horror like you I just end up acting more like Lance or Pietro

“This is bullshit, you have to have cheated.”

Pietro had repeated that point several times now. Ever since Todd had won the Brotherhood poker game earlier that day. Pietro had been out long before the final showdown between him and Lance, but rather than blame Lance, who was just as appalled by Todd’s idea for entertainment as he was, all of Pietro’s rage was easily focused on the amphibian currently trying to get the television to cooperate. Pietro refused to help, not so quietly suffering, watching Todd get it together step by step. Lance was burning popcorn. Fred was making sure all the lights were out for maximum enjoyment. Toad caught Pietro pouting and flipped him off over his shoulder and continued working on the VCR. 

“Microwave’s toast.” Lance announced from the kitchen. 

“We know.” Pietro snapped moodily, his anger spreading. “We can smell how much you suck from here.”

“Hey it’s not _my_ fault.” Lance replied, glancing at Freddy, who twiddled his thumbs and shut the light in the living room, turning it back on when Todd crowed at him to wait just a goddamn second, he almost had it.

Pietro watched with growing dread as Todd somehow connected every correct wire and switch. The pit in his stomach grew so much he felt like he might fall in - which would have been infinitely better than sitting there subjecting himself to torture. Truthfully, there was little more than pride keeping him there. Todd had claimed Quicksilver was too much of a pussy to sit through the whole thing, and since Toad was never right about anything, Pietro had to stay put to show him how stupid and immature he was being.

Finally, the VCR was hooked up, tape in, lights off, and all four Brotherhood members piled on to the well worn couch. In general Pietro refused to sit next to Toad. Now it was more because of anger and less because of the smell, but the arrangement still stood. Fred separated them, his bulky body no small comfort to Pietro. He could definitely use The Blob as a meat shield if it came to that. Finally, Lance sat on the other side of him, none too thrilled with Todd’s smell either. As a bonus he brought a blanket down from someone’s bedroom, complaining about the badly insulated windows, and holing up in the space between Pietro and the armrest. He offered some of the covers to Pietro, who gathered them in his fist and pulled them up to his chin. Lance let them pool over his lap and took a few reading breaths before pushing play.

The first jumpscare had gotten all of them in one collective, sharp gasp. Todd cut it off by laughing after and muttering about how great it was while Fred deflated and Lance pried his one hand from the armrest. Most humiliating of all, Pietro had grabbed Lance’s hand under the blanket. It had been lightning quick, but coming down from that tense position was taking much, much longer than he wanted. To his credit, Lance was wrapped up in his own shit, and while he didn’t do anything like squeeze his hand back, he stayed put and let Pietro crush his knuckles everything the music did something unsettling. 

Somewhere in the middle of the first act Pietro had given up all pretense of a brave face and folded in on himself. His knees were in his throat, one arm wrapped around them, making him the smallest thing on the couch. He couldn’t stop watching. True, the plot was thin and the acting about as solid as styrofoam, but there was plenty of imagery to make up for it. Even with his mutation helping him see the gaps in editing and effect glitches, Pietro was plenty terrified at the mere hint of a being chasing down teenagers in a rotting old home. He had yet to let go of Lance’s hand.

By the time the monster was in hot pursuit, Pietro was crushed into Lance’s side. He held his hand still, bringing the other hand to wrap around Lance’s arm and lock himself in place. He’d burrowed his way between Lance’s arm and the couch. His heart was going way too fast, so fast that even he was concerned - or would have been if he wasn’t so intensely worried about where this chick was running, right into a dead end, _right where the killer could get her whatwasshethinking--_

Pietro found some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one who yelled when the killer popped up behind her and took up all of the screen. Lance yelped just as loud as he did. Todd (he found out later) leapt so high he crashed into the ceiling. Fred whipped both of his arms out and crushed everyone who managed to stay on the couch so far into the couch the solid wood frame creaked with the stress. Pietro was crushed under Lance and Fred, but he’d been holding his breath and clenching his eyes shut, so he didn’t miss much. By the time Pietro poked his head out from behind Lance’s shoulder, Fred had withdrawn his hands and was helping Todd up from his giggle fit on the carpet, and Lance was breathing hard and cursing at everything. 

The Brotherhood missed part of the ending, coming down from laughter and rants and truncated heart attacks, but they all stayed to the end of the credits, just in case they needed bragging rights later. Fred reached for the lightswitch and kept his hand on it until the screen went blue, immediately blinding everyone in the room once it was all finally over.

“Aw man- that was tight yo!” Todd said, bouncing from his place to the television. _“God_ \- wanna watch the sequel?”

“No!” The remaining three chorused, all with varying degrees of aggravation at the mere thought.

“Yeah, you right. It wasn’t nearly as good.”

With collective groans, all four teens started to vacate the room. Todd lept through the dark house, thudding around and chattering about his favorite bits excitedly. Fred wasn’t exactly at his heels, but he tried to keep up the conversation while rummaging through the kitchen for snacks. His exit left Pietro and Lance squished needlessly into one side of the couch. With unusual slowness, Pietro disengaged from Lance’s arm and dug his way out from underneath the other boy. His heart was still hammering in his throat and he kept his legs up on the couch in case something was under there, ready to grab him, but he scooted out from underneath the blanket with his usual unaffected calm. Thankfully, Lance didn’t look too closely. 

“You okay?” Lance asked. He breathed out heavily and laughed in a tight, strained sort of way.

“Just fine.” Pietro swallowed the crack in his voice. “Sorry. About your arm.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lance raised his hands and flexed them. “You’ve got a hell of a grip.”

“Yeah well… sorry. I guess.” 

“You sure you’re okay?” Lance asked again, and Pietro felt a shard of embarrassment overtake his fear of masked evil lurking under the couch. He stood abruptly and stretched out all of his limbs. “Pietro?”

“Just fine, Lance. Already over it. In fact, I think I’m gonna turn in. See you in the morning.”

Quicksilver beat a hasty retreat up the stairs, into his well lit, familiar room, and made agonizingly slow, careful work making sure every inch was just as he’d left it and nothing was waiting in any shadowed gap or corner waiting for him.

\----

Hours passed since the end credits. Pietro was still awake. 

He hated horror movies for many totally justifiable reasons. His mutation allowed him to see every gross second in perfect clarity. His mutation also meant he had a lot of time to think, which meant he put himself in those god-awfully written scenarios with a killer at his back. For every successful evasion he found himself in ten different traps, working feverishly to find a way out. Pietro worried himself sick over the stupidest storylines. The more plot holes there were the more he tripped. The worse the gore effects the better he recalled them, improved them. The more one dimensional the characters the easier it was to shove himself in to replace them. The anxiety about a situation that would never happen wracked every inch of him until he was pacing, talking to himself, checking every mirror and closet and under his bed _just in case._

There had to be someone still affected as he was. He hoped that person was Lance, because he was across the hall, and just about as far as Pietro was willing to go in the pitch-black. He didn’t even stop to knock, shoving his way in at superhuman speeds. It didn’t occur to him until well after that the door wasn’t even closed. By that point he’d flicked on the light and shut the door behind him, giving it a once-over like he had with his room hours before. 

Lance’s room was frighteningly average. Dirty laundry heaped up in the corner near the hamper. Books laid unopened on the desk and in his bookbag. His vest hung off the edge of his dresser. Posters of bands and cars and half naked girls patched the holes and spider cracks in the walls. Lance’s guitar had the cleanest section of the room, it’s own little shrine near the closet. What little free space not occupied with clutter on flat surfaces and the floor looked to be passably clean, but Pietro was more than confident Lance had just run a rag and the vacuum over the open bits and called it a day. He’d drawn his curtains because they faced the neighbors. The single lamp Pietro had turned on cast everything in an orange-y glow, from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall.

His bed was empty.

For a second too long the fear that something had ripped him from underneath the bed or the closet or the hall consumed Quicksilver to the point of blind panic. The moment passed, leaving behind a quickened heartbeat and an underlying worry. Lance was gone. His bed didn’t look too disrupted, but nothing was missing. Either he was taken by force or had to vacate for some reason. Panic welled back up in his throat and Pietro edged toward the door, listening hard for any noise.

The door opened suddenly behind him, scuffing against carpet.

Pietro whirled around on Lance, wide eyed and accusatory despite standing in the middle of Lance’s room. Lance looked as surprised as he did, but much less on edge. He squinted in the light, rubbed his eyes, and yawned.

“You okay?” Lance asked, for what had to be the millionth time that night.

“Where were you?” Pietro snapped.

“Bathroom. What’s the matter?” Lance gradually shook off his sleepiness, growing more alarmed the more Pietro shivered in the middle of his room. “Tro?”

“Nothing- you just weren’t- I didn’t know where you were.” Pietro babbled. He fidgeted in place. “Fuck it I’m going to bed.” He said finally, like Lance had been the one to wake him up. He pushed past his sleepy teammate. Lance grasped his arm while he passed and Pietro jerked in his grip.

“The movie, right?” Lance asked, and Pietro twitched toward him, some smart remark on his tongue. “It got to me too. Freaky shit.”

“Puh. The plot was so stupid and the acting was worse. The only thing it had were loud noises and scary faces. We could have seen that for _free_ if we kicked Toad around enough.”

“Yeah well… it got to me. I mean, sort of.” Lance let go of Pietro’s arm to scratch his bedhead. “I hate house haunting movies. _I_ live in a house. What if that shit happened _here?”_

A sliver of panic rippled down Pietro’s spine and dug itself into his gut. Of course he’d thought about it. It’d been all he’d thought about for hours now. All of those scenarios bubbled forth from the back of his mind. Pietro set his jaw to keep from tearing out of there for safer ground - where the sun was up. He could make it to sunrise if he ran in the right direction long enough. Lance seemed to pick up on his slip of the tongue and cleared his throat. 

“Wanna stay with me?” Lance asked. “I mean, my bed’s against the wall. One less part to sneak up on, yeah?”

“You’re serious.” 

“You’d be surprised how much better you feel with a wall to your back.”

“And what about you - you’re going to be my human shield?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d be too freaked to sleep so you’d watch my back.” Again, Lance shrugged. “You get some company, I get a watchdog. Everybody wins.”

As it stood, Lance seemed too tired to feel awkward. He shuffled toward bed and yanked the covers up some, making room for another person. Pietro eyed him, waiting for the punch line, waiting for the trick, hell - waiting for _Toad_ to pop out with the video camera to tape how much of a baby he was being. But nothing happened. Lance stood there stupidly with the covers in his fist and watched while Pietro burrowed in. He took a second to shut off the light, and then joined Pietro under the blankets. 

Under the cover of darkness and cheap sheets, Pietro squirmed. Lance was now very close, very warm, and very much a good meat shield. Still, he felt a little weird taking up space in a place that wasn’t his, so he scooted until he felt the wall at his back. He was loathe to admit it, but Lance was right. It felt nice not having to think about one whole side. Two, if he counted the headboard. What took up place in his mind instead was how disgustingly uncomfortable Lance’s setup was. 

“Your mattress is so hard.”

“Suits me.” Lance muttered from his side of the bed.

“Okay, fair point.” Pietro sighed and rolled onto his back, struggling to find a comfortable position. An errant hand suddenly erupted from the covers and nearly scared him out of his skin. “Excuse me-”

“Sorry. I thought you might want to grab it again.”

“Don’t you fucking start-” Lance laid his hand over Pietro's face and made him sputter and bat it away. 

“Relax.” Lance told him, laughing. Pietro looked over and saw him sideways, head half buried in a pillow, his back to the rest of the room. “You’re gonna keep me up all night squirming like that. Here. Use my arm as a security blanket.”

“I don’t need a security blanket. I’m _fine._ Just…”

“Scared.” Lance yawned and cut off Pietro’s protest. “Night, ‘Tro.”

Lance shut his eyes before Pietro could glower at him. His arm laid thick and heavy over his chest, crossing over his heart, curled around his shoulder. Pietro was so far from amused it bordered on rage. The bastard was smirking, pretending to be asleep, his heartbeat in his wrist aggravatingly slow against Pietro’s collarbone. How _dare_ Lance make fun of him like that, and then just throw his arm over his body and call it a day. 

Pietro fumed and schemed several ways to get back at Lance for calling him out when they were supposed to be friends. He lost the better part of an hour fine tuning his plans. And then something creaked beyond the door and Pietro was all ears. He held his breath, waiting for something else. Nothing came for an excruciatingly long time. He peeked over Lance’s shoulder, into the darkened room. Nothing looked like it had been moved. Pietro turned his attention toward Lance. A lot of good he was doing. The stupid idiot was fast asleep. Pietro took him up on the offer of being a meat shield and turned on his side, hiding between him and the wall. With his legs drawn up, Pietro was totally covered. He held back on thinking he was completely safe, because that was when the worst things happened, but he was cautiously optimistic all the same. Pissed at Lance for sleeping, pissed at Toad for making him watch the stupid movie, pissed that he was cramped and sleeping on a rock slab with Avalanche, of all mutants, but _better,_ somehow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pietro is a stuborn child  
> Lance is such a good mom friend  
> i just love writing cuddles fIGHT ME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter originally posted August 27, 2015](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/127725055579/fic-fright-night-25)
> 
> Edited by the always amazing Mugsandpugs <3

Somewhere between peeking over Lance’s shoulder for monsters and planning on how to kick Lance’s ass in the morning, Pietro had fallen asleep. He didn’t realize until he woke up, light in his face, utterly disoriented. It was like his head had been emptied - blissful and confusing all at once. At least for a minute. Everything came flooding back when Pietro tried to turn and the mattress met him with all the comfort of concrete. Pietro opened his eyes to a ceiling that wasn’t his, bedding that was tangled around his legs, and a crick in his neck that he was going to be annoyed about for the rest of the foreseeable future.

But no Lance.

Pietro subtly reached across the bed, sweeping along the sheet. The space where Lance had been was cold. Pietro wrinkled his nose and turned to find flat blankets and a dented pillow. Asshole shirked his meat shield duties. He drew both his arms out from under the covers and stretched them above his head, arching his back, trying to ease the ache from Lance’s shitty mattress. When that didn’t work Pietro flopped back down to lie flat, throwing his arm over his eyes and silently rebuking Lance for making him hurt and making him slow and making him seem like a big baby and not even doing the one thing he said he’d do in exchange.

For the second time in twelve hours, the sound of Lance’s door catching against the carpet startled Pietro into staring wide eyed at the intruder, who was again a surprised looking Lance. Rather than interrogate him, however, Pietro made a face and grunted, rubbing his eyes. Lance took in stride, entering his room and closing the door behind him. His hair was wet, half wrapped in a towel. He’d tactfully avoided getting dressed, instead choosing to change back into the shirt and boxers he’d slept in. Pietro peered out from under his arm to sneer at Lance, only to find him hovering at the edge of the bed, all smiles.

“Morning sunshine.” Lance cooed at him, leaning over the bed. Pietro smacked him with a pillow and Lance choked on polyester. “This is the thanks I get for letting you sleep?”  
  
“That’s the thanks you get for being a prick.”  
  
“You’re usually better in the mornings.”  
  
“I usually don’t sleep on boulders.”  
  
“Fair point.”

Lance shrugged and made a grab for the pillow. Pietro yanked it out of his grasp, finally stuffing it under his head to keep Lance from beating him with it. Lance shoved him for his trouble, but didn’t make any more attempts to fuck around. He moved away from the bed, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it off his back. Cleanly as ever, he dumped it on the floor and hunted for for one that was cleaner to replace it. Pietro didn’t bother to hide his disgust and worked himself up into a sitting position. His back screamed at him for it.

“You fucked up my arm, by the way.” Lance started, apropos of nothing, pulling a new shirt over his head. “Wanna see the bruises?”  
“No.” Pietro snorted. “I said I was sorry.”  
“I just thought it was cool. You can see all five fingers and everything. You were _freaked_.”

He let conversation lapse again in favor of grabbing a ratty old brush and yanking it through his hair. Pietro winced. He could barely watch this disaster attempt self care. He’d trusted him to keep him safe all night? What the hell had he been thinking? Scrutinizing Lance’s back, Pietro realized with no small fear that he _had_ trusted Lance to keep him safe for several hours, at least.

“How long did I sleep?” Pietro asked the room, mostly himself. He hunted for a clock somewhere but came up empty.  
  
“Probably as long as I did.” Lance yawned and scratched his head. “But hey, we’re still alive. So that’s cool.”

Pietro knew that was far from the truth. He rarely ever slept, and when he did, it was much, much less than normal people needed. He decided that _that_ was the reason for his disorientation. Lance had somehow made a fool of him more than he even realized. He was lucky that sleeping for so long threw him off so much. And Lance didn’t even feel guilty. He was more concerned hunting for pants like the morning after a one night stand.

“This isn’t going to be a thing.” Pietro stated, firm in his words. He crossed his arms for emphasis. “I flipped out a little last night and you helped. Great - congrats and thank you. Let’s never mention it again.”  
  
“Fine by me.”

Lance’s casual attitude was rubbing him the wrong way, so Pietro intentionally yanked his sheets up with him in his attempt to stand. He stretched, yawned, and smoothly navigated the now well lit bedroom. Lance tugged his jeans up over his knees and hips, oblivious to everything, and Pietro fought the urge to shove him into one of the many piles of garbage stacked up around the room. Before he could, Lance buttoned his fly and turned to him, completely and utterly neutral, like nothing strange had happened. And then, more worryingly, concern clouded his face.

“You good?”  
  
“Stop asking me that.”

Pietro left the room before Lance could utter another word.

* * *

Aside from the strange beginning and Todd’s complete inability to shut the fuck up about the movie they all suffered through, the rest of the day passed without exception. The night too, so far as Pietro could tell. He’d slept for hours hidden behind Lance, and now his already abnormal sleeping schedule was thrown off. The way he was feeling, he wouldn’t need to sleep for weeks, which would have been to his benefit if it didn’t come with anxiety.

The movie was partially to blame. Pietro had to listen to Toad give a scene by scene breakdown to Fred any anyone who had the misfortune to be nearby. He couldn’t run too far either, lest he be dragged into a stupid argument about how much of a coward he was. He wasn’t a coward, the movie was just a horrible piece of garbage no one wanted to hear about anymore. No matter how many times he tried to explain that to Todd, with or without high-speed kicks and errant slime, it didn’t get through his head. Lance was no help. He broke up their flights and the floor and yelled at them all to shut up.

Now that night had fallen, everyone _had_ shut up. But Pietro was still mad. Part of him wanted to watch the movie again, make Todd try and justify every single scene, cut, and line of dialogue. Another part just wanted to throw Todd out of the window for being a prick. But Pietro could control himself. Instead of putting harm on Todd right then, he planned on it for the next day. In the mean time, he paced.

But thinking about revenge only occupied him so long. As fun as it was, getting Toad back for anything was laughably easy. Pietro had seven plans ready to go before midnight, none of which he had any particular desire to put into motion. He busied himself in his room, pacing still, trying to find something else to distract him before the last bits of the movie made him do something stupid like run to Lance again.

And just like that, Pietro was lost. Lance wasn’t interesting enough to hold his attention, not by a long shot. What _did_ interest Pietro was why he bothered to trust Lance like he did. The only reason he’d run across the hall was because he was closest. The fact he fell asleep on meat shield duty didn’t surprise Pietro in the slightest. Lance was nothing if not disappointing most of the time. But he’d stayed. He’d been afraid of phantoms, yes, but Lance wasn’t exactly in any position to protect him. Why had he felt secure enough to sleep - not just to doze off but to _sleep_ for _hours_ , right next to him, as scared as he had been? He hadn’t done anything like that since, well, ever quite frankly.

Pietro lost a few hours trying to rationalize his own behavior, and then Lance’s. It was still dark when he realized how much time he’d wasted only to wind up at the start again. There were more holes in his reasoning than any stupid movie Todd had ever been allowed to shove in the player. Few things aggravated Quicksilver to the point of upset. Usually he stopped off at frustration and skipped over to anger. This, however, was making him anxious. The enormity of what he was thinking was too big for even him to circle around. There was too much too quickly that he didn’t understand, and Pietro felt suddenly very alone in the dead of night.

Pietro found himself in Lance’s room, beside his bed, and already shaking his shoulder before he could stop himself.

“What- what’s happening?” Lance slurred, breathing in sharply and raising his head from the pillow. He looked over his shoulder, eyes unfocused and bleary. Pietro almost felt bad. Almost.  
  
“I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Oh.” Lance’s eyes slid shut and he collapsed back down on the bed. Before Pietro could shake him again Lance’s arm raised up, tenting the blankets closest to the wall. “C’mere.”

Pietro wormed his way under the covers without a second to spare, warmed instantly by whatever body heat Lance had already generated. He still didn’t feel tired, but there was some sense of peace that descended over him. Lance’s knees knocked into his and he yawned obnoxiously into his hair, but he also slid his arm over his side and wrapped it around his back, his palm lax between Pietro’s shoulderblades.

“S’okay.” Lance muttered, and Pietro wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but he didn’t answer either way. He pushed his nose into the hollow of Lance’s throat and busied himself matching Lance’s breathing, slower and slower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh Pietro my stupid child  
> you are in deep  
> also guess who doesn't know how to split up chapters all that well  
> it me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Originally posted on my Tumblr on August 29, 2015](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/127880899929/fic-fright-night-35)
> 
> Edited by the very best Mugsandpugs <3

The following morning Pietro woke up alone, which would have been fine if it was in his own bedroom. But he was in Lance’s room (again), sans Lance (again!), which looked a little more than incriminating. He kicked the covers away and put his hands against the small of his back, stretching as best as he could. He swung his legs over the edge and found that part of the bed was still warm. Which meant Lance hadn’t been away long. Which meant Pietro faced a new dilemma - to run or to wait. Run seemed like the best option, as it often did.

Before he could forget his embarrassing second slip and convince Lance it had been something he’d dreamed over breakfast, Lance interrupted him. Pietro didn’t startle this time, but he made a face at Lance’s boorish tendency to burst into his own room like he owned the place. Lance ignored his expression, yawned loudly, and waved hello.

“You’re up. Cool.”  
  
“Good morning to you too.” Pietro said. “Your bed still fucking _sucks_.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, princess. It’s fine.”

Lance snorted at Pietro’s exaggerated attempt at stretching. He bent over backwards in the process, knocking something loose from under the crumpled sheets. Pietro looked at it upside-down, pulling it free before righting himself. One of the hideous purple throw pillows from the living room couch sat half-flattened on his lap. Pietro rose (with some difficulty - the bed was a mess he didn’t care what Lance said) and turned the pillow in his hands. Lance looked over at him, pulling his gloves on.

“Why is this up here?” Pietro brandished it toward Lance. “Please tell me it’s innocent and this isn’t some sort of… _aid_.”  
  
“It’s not.” Lance answered quickly, hands up. “I got used to having something under my arm. Figured no one would miss some shitty decorative pillow from the living room.” He smiled wryly. “You’ve got the filthiest mind, I swear.”  
  
Pietro didn’t take the bait. “You got used to me? After a night?”  
  
“Well, yeah.”  
  
“Asshole.” Lance picked his head up from the bashful turn it had taken to look at the carpet. “I felt like the world’s biggest dick for thinking about waking you up last night and even worse doing it and you’d have been _totally fine with it_?”  
  
“Uh… yeah. I guess.”  
  
“You suck, Alvers.”

Lance frowned at him and snatched his pillow out of Pietro’s hand. Pietro shrugged it off, crossing his arms, staring Lance down. He was promptly ignored. Lance worked around him, kicking garbage and clothes out of the way on the floor, tugging his bedding into something that resembled being made up. Pietro continued to pout, zipping out of Lance’s way, regarding every bit of the room he’d invaded twice now with an offhand snort. What about this place screamed sanctuary from monsters and overthinking? What about _Lance_ provided any security whatsoever? The clod couldn’t even make his bed. Clearly, this would take a lot more time to decipher. Time and effort.

“I told you this wasn’t going to be a thing.” Pietro grumbled moodily. He rubbed his face. “But… hypothetically speaking, if it _were_ to be a thing… you would be okay with it.”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
  
“And nobody would have to ever find out about it.”  
  
“I mean if you’re that worried-”  
  
“Nobody would find out.” Pietro interrupted. “And we’re not expecting anything except a little mutual comfort.”  
  
“Are you seriously laying ground rules to sleep with me?”  
  
“Quiet!”  
  
“I’m not signing a contract to cuddle with you, Pietro.” Lance snorted, absurdly amused by the whole situation. “Look - it’s fine by me. Sneak in here, burrow in, I’m more than fine with it. I like the company.”

Pietro bristled. The urge to run prodded like a knife at his spine. But he stayed put. He wasn’t a coward. He wouldn’t run from Lance Alvers or his stupid ideas or this stupid _thing_ that was happening all of a sudden. Usually Pietro would have welcomed such a quick development, but Lance was never one to be on the same page as him, let alone several ahead.

“So that’s it.”  
  
“Yes, Pietro.” Lance turned on him with the same exhausted tone he gave Toad, which made Pietro want to clock him in the jaw. “I’m okay with it. Do whatever. You know where I am, my door will be open.”  
  
“Fine then.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“ _Good_.” Pietro parroted, and vanished with the last word.  
  


* * *

And so it was a thing.

His intentions had been pure, at one point. Pietro was almost sure of that. But now they’d become polluted. The more times Pietro found himself under Lance’s arm and in his bed the better Lance looked. He was horribly biased, of course. He was also horribly afraid. Pietro would have taken a whole horror movie marathon over _this_. Movies ended. This stretched on into eternity and hopefully (worryingly) longer.

Instead of looking for creatures in the dark, Pietro was entirely consumed with the mutant in front of him. He pondered over Lance’s heritage, what his parents might have looked like if they stuck around. There was a nice face under that mess he called hair. He had a big nose and his jawline looked like he’d been cut at right angles and he grew the dumbest, most aggravatingly scratchy overnight beard, but he didn’t look _terrible_. Not as terrible as he could have been, anyway. He looked better sleepy or sleeping, lax in the face, minus the defeated scowl and bags under his eyes.

He spent a lot of time observing Lance beyond just his looks, of course. He noticed that Lance snored sometimes, not at all like Fred, who shook the house if he laid down the wrong way. Lance’s snores were breathy and light. They feathered through his hair and down his neck. His heartbeat was a healthy, even rate, if human medical textbooks could be trusted to account for mutants. It was steady and strong, almost hypnotic when Lance was finally fully asleep. So far as Pietro could tell, Lance didn’t dream. Given how violently Todd slept, and how similarly they’d grown up, he assumed the same from Lance. But the boy scarcely moved. His arm was always steady, wrapped around his back. Sometimes his fingers twitched, but nothing ever came of it, save the barest brush of his hand against the nape of Pietro’s neck.

Not that he’d ever tell Lance, but sometimes when he was in that haze near sleep, he’d breathe in deeply and take in the smell of him. It was completely unoriginal and expected - mostly dusty earth, or damp if he’d bothered to shower before bed. There was sometimes this underlying sting of cigarettes, which was funny, considering they couldn’t afford anything like fourteen dollars a pack and Lance had said he’d quit months ago after Mystique barged into his room and found them under his pillow. More often it was a tinge of leather, sugar, or that gross cheap beer Lance hid in the back of the fridge.

It was just so easy! Pietro could do anything he wanted with the hours of night he used to waste bettering himself while everyone else slept. It took no effort to slide his arm up under Lance’s, to trace the lines of muscle and slide over his rough elbows and the scratches and marks left behind, to follow bare skin until he reached the edge of Lance’s t-shirt or wife beater. If the thought struck him bury his nose into the hollow of Lance’s throat and breathe him in, feel the dull slow thud of his heartbeat against his lips, then he did it. Pietro could do any stupid little affectionate thing he wanted to Lance, and Lance didn’t once question him. His being asleep only had a little to do with it.

More unsettling that Pietro’s complete and utter willingness to surreptitiously steal affection from a sleeping Lance was Lance’s new habit. He didn’t know where it came from, but one morning before detaching from Pietro’s side, he leaned down and kissed the top of his head. Pietro had feigned sleep, eyes tightly shut, and Lance went on as normal. And that too became a _thing_. A thing Lance did without fail, every time Pietro was there when he woke up. And because Pietro was just a fountain of good decisions and moral character, he never mentioned it and made damn sure he was second to ‘wake up’.

So it was a thing. A very big, very obvious, very anxiety inducing thing that he couldn’t control. In the dark, Pietro admitted it was because of his own cowardice. He couldn’t take one stupid movie and ran to Lance for help. Now he created an entirely new, more aggressive monster. His own personal Golem, complete with rock motif. He could write something on Lance’s forehead to get him to leave him alone, but Pietro couldn’t think of something foul enough to get him to crumble. Lance was a pretty solid problem.

And the worst part was Lance was just so _okay_ with all of it. Sure, he was asleep for the majority of it, and he didn’t know what kind of desperate Pietro really was when it was late and he was alone with his thoughts and a pliable Lance beside him, but that was hardly an excuse. Every morning, without fail, Lance would say some version of good morning and carry on with his routine like they’d always slept in the same bed. Pietro always expected some sort of accusation, to be caught _even once_ doing something weak and deplorable in the dead of night, but Lance really was that dumb and trusting.

The guilt Pietro felt, if that’s what it was, was completely unfounded. Lance could stop this any time if he was uncomfortable. He’d been the one to start it, after all. Pietro wasn’t about to deny something to Lance that he wanted too. He’d long since lost the resolve to wake up and tell Lance this wasn’t happening again, that he couldn’t take the stress of being close to another person once dawn broke. Pietro put that on Lance. He shoved all his problems to the big stupid boulder brain on the other side of the bed and ignored the tinge of shame leftover, soaking up the warmth and company, the comfort of something (someone) solid beside him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no dialogue really just a lot of me gushing over my garbage kids  
> lance played a guitar once in the whole fucking series and I will never let it go  
> I won't let that rivalry between Evan and Pietro go either YOU HAD SO MUCH TO WORK WITH  
> at least todd was constantly a mangey little pest  
> todd my horrible son I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [OG post: 9/1/15](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/128114865089/fic-fright-night-45)
> 
> Edited by the great Mugsandpugs <3

Weeks passed. No one noticed, no one said anything, and more worrying things came of their new closeness. Pietro found himself wandering in at random, not just at night. He never stayed if Lance wasn’t there, but if he was, and not busy, he’d help himself to his side of Lance’s bed. If he wasn’t already there, Lance would transplant himself into place. He wouldn’t stop what he was doing, be it attempting homework or fiddling with his guitar or dozing off, but he’d make room for Pietro regardless. Pietro would grab the pillow Lance used in his place and drape it over his lap, loop his arm around Lance’s back, tuck the other one under his head, and lie in that spot for as long as he could get away with.

The only thing Lance said about Pietro’s sudden addition was a quick hello. He didn’t question about nightmares anymore. Pietro wondered if he knew that it wasn’t the source any longer, that this was just becoming a very out of control habit. But Lance didn’t seem to mind. He just kept on. Occasionally he’d rouse Pietro off his lap to ask him a question about homework or to move a little so he didn’t take the blunt end of the guitar to the face, but that was it. Sometimes he’d be sitting on the bed already and have the pillow in place so Pietro could just wriggle in.

Still, Pietro couldn’t shake the feeling there was something intrinsically _wrong_ about being so touchy-feely with Lance. Rather, there was something wrong with Lance for being so ungodly patient with him. Underneath all of the pleasant relaxation Pietro’s mind worried over just how okay with this Lance was. This was the same guy who caved in two schools because he wasn’t respected. And here Pietro was kicking in his door and demanding cuddles for no reason, and Lance met it with little more than a shrug and the occasional pat on the back. Pietro wondered if, outside of New York or in the city where Lance grew up, this kind of bonding was normal. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was a middle-america thing to be totally comfortable with another boy laying on your lap in broad daylight.

Lance was weird, Pietro decided. That, and this wasn’t entirely his fault, and therefore not entirely bad. He still wasn’t about to let anyone else know about it, though. Or ask Lance his opinion on anything.

“Still awake?” Lance asked carefully, quietly. He laid his hand between Pietro’s shoulder blades and rubbed small circles into his shirt.  
  
“Yeah.” Pietro raised his head. “Going somewhere?”  
  
“No. Just checking.” Lance stretched off of the bed, making a grab for his guitar. “Mind if I play?”  
  
“Whatever.” Pietro laid his head back down on the pillow and shut his eyes. “You can’t even really sing.”  
  
“You keep saying that and I might start believing you.”

Pietro yawned for no other reason than to cover up the silence. Lance followed his example, strumming the old guitar. He paused to tune it, making tut-tut noises and plucking strings, and then finally started to play a few familiar chords. Pietro waited for him to sing, but he hummed instead. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but Pietro kept his mouth shut and buried his head into the pillow, listening for the bits where Lance broke and breathed lyrics out between notes.

* * *

Pietro tripped over the thought one day, dozing in Lance’s lap, that he hadn’t been this close to anyone in a long time. At least not since Evan - and Pietro didn’t like to think about how their friendship had crippled itself as it got older. He didn’t like to think about Evan much at all, honestly. What bothered him more than the thought of his former friend was the idea that he had another potential one in Lance.

Lance hadn’t been acting odd, persay. If anything, Lance putting up with him this long had been the odd thing. But he’d been taking longer and longer to fall asleep. He’d been getting up earlier, but staying in bed for several minutes. The forehead kisses were sometimes replaced with long periods of Lance resting his chin on his head and staring at the wall. The times when Pietro crawled into bed with him midday were getting less and less relaxed. Often Lance would just sit there and rub his back and look out the window. Sometime’s he’d attempt small talk, edging around something but never saying what. He’d stop when Pietro lifted his head and scrutinized him, defaulting to the usual things.

Pietro didn’t believe in jinxes or luck or anything like that, but he did know how quickly things could fall out of his favor. He also knew how to read people, Lance especially, and something wasn’t sitting right with him about all of this anymore. That unspoken _something_ hung around and grew bigger than the laundry pile. Pietro really didn’t want to lose Lance. Or whatever this arrangement was.

Pietro needed an excuse.

Getting one was surprisingly easy. Todd was easy to bait. Counting cards was an easy thing to master. Knocking Freddy out of the game was child’s play. Taking Lance out was a little harder. He was actually competent. Todd was surprisingly good at playing too, but cheating was easy. And playing dramatic when he lost was kind of fun when he got to flip a table onto Toad’s lap.

What was hardest was trying to act like watching another shitty, gore filled scary movie was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Like sitting on the couch was akin to sitting on death row. Like his heart was pounding because he didn’t want to be subjected to this hell again and not because he was giddy his plan had worked.

He frowned at Lance when he offered a pitying smile and part of his blankets. He scowled at Freddy when he offered quietly to protect him in case anything happened. He nearly choked Todd when he called him Priss-silver under his breath. He refused popcorn and the chance to back out of this ninety-seven minute hell. When he breathed in shakily before Lance pressed play, it was to steady himself, but only because Lance’s arm was already pressed to his.

To his credit, Pietro did try watching the movie. Like everything else Todd enjoyed, it was tasteless and horrible and disgusting. The first scare was a cheap trick and startled all of them and made Todd laugh, and that was about the time Pietro began to lose interest in everything that had to do with the television. He was much more interested in the shoulder Lance shoved into his sternum in an attempt to back away from the scary face.

Pietro gave up on the movie after the main characters started bumbling through their opening scenes. Aside from the opening kill, this one was taking a great deal of time pretending to be interesting. Pietro watched Lance instead. He looked mildly invested. Invested enough to raise one hand and cover his mouth to block the startled yelps from the fakeouts. Every time he was frightened he clamped his palm over his mouth and breathed hard over his nose before opening his eyes. It was cute, sort of, to see him so flustered. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek and flicked his attention back to the screen, just in case.

Somewhere near the middle (so far as Pietro could surmise), Lance caught him looking. Pietro froze up so suddenly even Blob was startled. He kept his focus securely on the screen even as one of Fred’s big hands patted his shoulder discretely as Fred could manage. His heart hammered up into his throat. He didn’t dare look at Lance again. For several minutes, anyway. Pietro made careful work of balancing watching the movie and watching Lance watch the movie. 

During one of his check ins with the movie, something fluttered in the background. Pietro seized that opportunity to snatch Lance’s arm tightly in his grip. Lance tensed up instantly, and Pietro risked looking at him, hoping not to catch him looking over again. He found instead Lance covering his mouth, watching the screen with wide eyes. And then he slammed his eyes shut and curled up just in time for a music sting to play. He grabbed Pietro’s hand under the covers and cursed under his other hand. Pietro was quick to match his posture, maybe a second too late. Fred slammed into both of them a second later, yelling, punching Todd in the ribs.

When Pietro could breathe again, Fred was apologizing and Todd was wheezing. Lance’s death grip on his knuckles eased, but stayed in place. Pietro tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but his attention waned. Lance’s hand was warm and rough and much bigger than his. Big enough to clasp all his finger together in a tight (okay ow that hurt) bunch. Pietro hissed against Lance’s shoulder and Lance let up, mumbling an apology. Pietro mumbled back to shut up, making himself comfortable burrowed behind Lance’s shoulder.

Pietro had lost most of the plot in Lance’s mannerisms and their clasped hands beneath the folds of the blanket. Once Lance had let up on his iron grip, Pietro busied himself with a new project- subtly turning his fingers under Lance’s palm. Things and people screamed through the television’s worn speakers and Pietro tried to keep up, clutching Lance’s shirt with his other hand whenever Lance twitched or Fred gasped or Toad started to giggle under his hands from the other side of the couch. All of Pietro’s concentration was on moving his hand, little by little, until their fingers lined up. Lance tensed suddenly and made a fist, and in the process crushed Pietro’s hand into his, fingers laced, knuckles cracked by the sheer force. Pietro didn’t look up. He hid his face, pretending to be scared.

The end came abruptly, and with it the blinding light. Lance groaned and covered his eyes, and Pietro made the mistake of burying his face in Lance’s shoulder before he knew what he was doing. Fred apologized, rubbed his eyes, and sneezed. Toad popped up in front of the three, bouncing excitedly. Lance shook the ground to knock him over. Pietro was gone before Todd could right himself and try to gloat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end. Thank you all for reading this cliche’d nonsense :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Originally posted Sept. 4, 2015](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/128356420859/fic-fright-night-55)
> 
> Edited by Mugsandpugs <3 My endless thanks and appreciation

After it was all said and done, Pietro sped out of the living room and straight to Lance’s bedroom. He sat on the bare bed in the dark, pulse high, throat tight. Lance came up after a few minutes, dragging the blanket behind him. He didn’t even have the decency to look surprised. He looked relieved, if not a little freaked out. His smile was a little strained and he leaned against the door when it clicked shut.

“I’m kind of glad you’re here, to be honest.” Lance said quietly, unprompted. “I think that was worse than the first one. Might have sought you out if you didn’t.”

Pietro took the comment in silence. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his clothes. His excuse lingered downstairs in the VCR. So long as he had that, he didn’t have to explain himself. For any of it.

“Are you-” Lance stopped himself. He cleared his throat and abandoned the question, pulling his shirt over his head.

Pietro had been in locker rooms. He knew how to look the other way. He knew how to discreetly peek, and he did so despite himself, quickly enough to catch shards of Lance’s stomach and chest and back in his peripheral. He had ample time to look. Lance never once cleaned his room, and finding relatively clean clothing was apparently difficult. It was totally unnecessary of him to pull his gloves off with his teeth, and Pietro did not at all appreciate that or the way he kicked off his jeans. But Pietro was a good guest. He looked at his hands and out of the corner of his eye.

Lance kicked his dirty clothing pile into a bigger pile and picked up the blanket he left on the floor. He yanked it out from under the door and handed it off to Pietro, who finally deemed it safe to look. He left it in a heap by his legs, watching carefully as Lance sat down on the bed beside him.

“I’m not exactly tired.” Lance explained. “Kind of wired, actually. You’re welcome to stay. But-”  
“I’m fine with keeping the lights on for a while. Trust me.”  
“Good, good.”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Usually this was the part where Lance crawled up to the headboard and occupied himself. Pietro would follow along with his lead. But Lance wasn’t doing anything. He looked nervous for some reason, and suddenly Pietro wondered if the movie had actually been good. To help get things moving along, he took up the pillow that Lance had stolen from the living room and held it, hoping Lance would take the visual cue. Aggravatingly enough, he didn’t. Pietro felt an electric sense of panic, displacement. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. His plan was supposed to _work_. Lance kept looking at some point in his room, glancing toward him, but making no move to actually _do_ anything. Pietro felt his jaw clenching, his hands ripping into the old pillow’s fabric. Lance startled at the sound of fabric straining, and finally he held Pietro’s gaze for more than a fleeting second. Unfortunately, all he did with it was frown.

“You ok-”  
  
“Don’t.” Pietro swallowed thickly. “Don’t ask me that again. Why do you always ask me that?”

“Because you look like you’re going to scream or tear your hair out or something.” Lance answered. “Are you scared?”  
  
“No.” Pietro’s brow furrowed, then smoothed, fumbling the lie and the pillow to the floor. “I mean yes.”  
  
“Don’t be. I’ll protect you.”

The hand on his shoulder was supposed to be supportive, maybe even brotherly. But It weighed on him, too warm and too heavy. Pietro stared at it like a foreign thing, like Lance had never touched him before, like he hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour trying to hold it, and Lance wouldn’t move it. He looked up at Lance’s face and found something strange there, some expression he couldn’t place. With it came this crackling sense he was being watched, an anxiety he couldn’t shake. Something was coming. Something enormous and unstoppable.

Lance kissed him and it felt like he was running.

Adrenaline exploded in him all at once, shards everywhere. He clutched at Lance’s neck and face desperately, drawing him close and crawling to meet him. Lance’s hand met his thigh and drew it over his lap, and then stayed there, trailing up and down, burning through his jeans. Pietro heard someone moan among the fervor, entirely too loudly above the pulse in his ears. This was the shit that got teenagers like him killed. This is what the murderer saw before it hacked them to pieces.

One hell of a way to go.

Pietro realized after a beat that Lance’s hand was square on his ass. Lance followed up after, stumbling and breathing heavy. They hadn’t parted for more than a second, lip to lip, breathing hard into each other. Pietro pulled back the slightest bit, trying to focus his vision. Lance took up all of it, pink-cheeked and open mouthed and dark eyed.

“Sorry.” Lance said, moving his hand down the back of his thigh, like that was any better.  
  
“Don’t be.”

Lance had the gall to smirk at him and tighten his grip. Pietro shivered, lip in his teeth. He refused to back down from the challenge Lance was offering up. His heart was hammering, lungs cold like he’d run through snow. He watched Lance lick his lips slowly, smile, and go in for another kiss. Pietro met him, sliding his hands into Lance’s hair, catching on knots and pulling through them. He felt Lance fist one hand tightly in the back of his shirt, sliding the other down behind his knee. The hooked fingers against denim pulling his legs apart made Pietro twitch in spite of himself. He bit. Lance gasped, pulled away from him, panting and close, holding Pietro by the shirt to keep him from diving forward.

“You want this right?” Lance asked him. “I’m- this isn’t-” Pietro watched him look past his head, then right into his eyes. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

Pietro couldn’t have snatched him up any faster. Lance hit the bed with enough force to drive the bedframe into the wall. He bit the hush that Lance tried to warn him with and swallowed the following moan. Lance’s hands slid to the small of his back, under his shirt, rough fingers and palms over his skin. Pietro ran with all of it, pressing back into Lance’s touch, pressing his mouth hard to the panting mouth below him. This he knew. This he could _do_. After nights upon nights of fretting with his own thoughts, barely able to keep his hands to himself, being able to touch and kiss was nothing short of incredible. Pietro was sure Lance would have agreed if he had the chance to speak.

Given all of this freedom was overwhelming, however. There was just _so much_ he wanted to do! Limits on could and would and should hung around beyond the bed, but they were shooed away by Lance’s unabashed hands. Pietro took advantage of the lapse in their better sense. He’d pinned Lance to the bed, parted his lips and tasted him. Lance kept up, all breath, languid sweeps of his hand knocking Pietro off balance. To Pietro’s utter delight he seemed fascinated with his legs and ass and everything below the belt. Even after he’d stuffed his hands under Pietro’s shirt and worked it up over his head, the brief dragging of palms and fingers over his chest landed those hands right back on his thighs.

It would only be right to return the favor, Pietro surmised, to make sure what was happening looked just as deliciously naughty as it was. He worked his hands out from Lance’s thick hair, down his neck, over his shoulders to the overstretched collar of his shirt to the broad chest heaving below him. How many times had he ghosted his hand down that solid plane in the dead of night, forcing himself to stop before he hit mid stomach? It occurred to him suddenly he didn’t have to stop, that he could keep dropping his hand lower, lower. He hit the dulled protrusion of his hipbone and Lance bucked. Pietro snatched his hand back, looking at Lance, hesitating until he looked at him, liquid fire in his eyes, and then Pietro pressed his hand back in place and Lance let out the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

And just like a nightmare, it was followed by a thunderous _bang_ beyond the door.

“What was that?” Lance asked, his voice hoarse.  
  
“Do _not_.” Pietro replied, equal parts angry and desperate.

He fisted his hands in Lance’s shirt and tugged, but it only hitched up a few inches. He groaned when Lance worked himself to his elbows, looking at the door. It didn’t escape Pietro that this really was turning into the last romp before he was brutally murdered, but he was too aggravated to be properly afraid. It wasn’t _fair_. They were fucking around in a broken down old house and there had been a loud noise and now Lance was going to be the idiot who wanted to investigate and Pietro was going to be the idiot who begged him to ignore it to get off- but _still_. It was never two guys fooling around who were slaughtered - there had to be a loophole _somewhere_ in this.

Before Pietro could try and work with the script, Lance worked himself up to sit straight. He caught Pietro’s back to keep him from pitching backward onto the floor, but gone were the overblown pupils and flushed cheeks. Grim worry took their place, and Pietro tried not to let his internal tantrum overpower him into actually whining. He made a last ditch effort to go back, pressing his mouth to Lance’s neck. His pulse still hammered where Pietro kissed, but Lance muttered instead of moaning, and Pietro let a brattish whine slip out against his skin.

Whatever rebuttal Lance had ready fell on deaf ears. Something banged outside the door again, and again, then loudly _on_ the door, making it shake. Both jerked upright, staring at the flimsy wood. Again it rattled, someone or someone banging on it with all their might. Pietro felt Lance’s nails in his back. The banging stopped, but then someone started rattling on the handle. Pietro wondered if he could survive a jump out of Lance’s window. Maybe if he threw Lance first-

The door flew open with one final, loud bang. Pietro shot out of Lance’s arms, across the room, toward the window. Of course the damn thing was painted shut. Pietro was not above using Lance’s guitar to break out the plate glass and flee, but as he turned to grab the damn thing he saw the beast that leapt into the room, wide-eyed and foaming at the mouth.

“Yo man we got a _problem_ man did you fuckin’ _hear_ -Oh. Uh, sorry.”

With admirable speed Lance snatched up the wad of blankets and yanked them over his lap. Todd coughed into his fist, his terror abated momentarily. Pietro swallowed his heart back down and laid his chest, trying to keep it from bursting through his ribs.

“ _What_ Todd?” Lance finally said, teeth clenched.  
  
“Man you didn’t _hear_ that?!” Todd cried. “That huge fuckin’ bang! Man there’s somethin’ in the basement. We gotta get the fuck outta dodge or we’re worm chow, dog!”  
  
“Todd.” Lance lowered his head into his hands. “There is nothing in the basement.”  
  
“That’s what they all say! Man - Freddy and I all heard it. You gotta have heard it. Pietro’s probably havin’ a fuckin’ coronary in the next room you saw how fucked up he got after that movie man we gotta go-”  
  
“Todd there is nothing in the basement. We are not investigating the basement in the middle of the night. And Pietro’s fine he’s right there.”

Lance gestured at Pietro, standing near the window half naked like it was the most normal thing in the world. He caught on a second too late, eyes wide as Todd turned to investigate. Pietro looked from Lance’s blanched face to Todd, openly horrified that Lance had so casually just dimed them both out. To his credit, Todd looked relieved for a second that his friend wasn’t convulsing on the floor, but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“When you’d get here, yo?”  
  
“I was getting dressed for bed.” Pietro said. He resisted every urge to look at his crumpled shirt on the floor by Lance’s covered legs. “Heard the bang and ran in here. I heard it.”  
“See!” Todd shouted suddenly, startling the other boys. “He heard it too man. We gotta make sure or we’re all gonna end up on the morning news in body bags!”

Pietro looked from Todd’s panicked bouncing in place to Lance, who sighed and hid his face in his hands. When he lifted his head, some color had returned and he’d plastered on a bored poker face Pietro recognized from their earlier game. Lance rubbed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, pushing the blankets off his legs and standing.

“No more horror movies from you. Ever.” Lance stated firmly. “I’m not putting up with this shit.”  
  
“Yo man I ain’t worried about a fuckin’ ghost I’m worried about a goddamn _axe murderer_ in the _flesh_ man I’m not gonna die this young. Ain’t happenin’. I’ve been through too much shit to go down this easy.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Pietro asked, ignoring Todd, who looked out the door down the now-lit hall, calling for Freddy to come closer.  
  
“Getting dressed.” Lance answered. He found the pair of pants he’d worn earlier and tugged them on. “Get this shit over with.”  
  
“But-” Pietro silenced himself, looking down at the floor when Lance shot him a look.  
  
“Relax ‘Tro.” Lance glanced at Todd, half in the hall, then back to Pietro. He lifted his hand and stroked the underside of Pietro’s chin, tipping his face up. “I’ll protect you.”

Pietro barely had time to swoon. Lance looked away from him and took an authoritative role, telling Todd and Fred to find something big enough to swing. Pietro usurped him and snapped at them all to get flashlights, or at least light the house up so they knew where to book it if they had to. Then he was off in a flash, into his darkened room, hunting for a shirt and hoping neither one remembered what he’d been wearing earlier.

He exited his room, cooled off and dressed and still significantly annoyed that he’d been interrupted at _exactly the best part_ , and was promptly armed with a bat. Pietro entertained the idea of taking a swing at Toad, but he simply shouldered it and rolled his eyes at the crack task force Lance had thrown together, armed with broken furniture and flashlights that had seen better days.

“All right, let’s get this over with.” Pietro said, pushing past the lot of them, leading the charge down the stairs.

* * *

Surprise of all surprises, there was no murder in the basement. No monster or poltergeist or demon either. There was, however, a very evident leak in the ceiling that was dripping steadily onto a pile of ancient boxes stuffed with garbage. The steady drip, while making an impressive puddle on the floor, also made the errant garbage swell to bursting, which in turn collapsed the table it was all stored on. The mess was too much to deal with this late, so Fred pushed the saggy mush out of the direct line of water and Pietro put a garbage can that might have been theirs under the drip. Lance nagged at them on his way up the stairs, and had almost been locked down there by a very embarassed and grouchy Todd, who was now banned from picking entertainment for the house no matter how many hands he won.

After checking the locks and putting away the weaponry and shutting the lights (with some undue grumbling about the electric bill along with home repairs) Lance shooed them into their respective rooms. When he shut the door to his, Pietro delighted in seeing him jerk backward, having sped into the room behind him. He met Lance’s frown with a grin, speeding backwards when Lance lobbed a lazy hand near his face.

“What - you wanna go on patrol now?”  
  
“God no. Just wanted to see our ‘fearless leader’ freak out.” Pietro chuckled to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why did you give _me_ the bat, anyway?”  
  
“You hurt _a lot_ when you’re scared out of your mind.” Lance replied simply. Pietro punched his arm. “See? Do you see?”

Lance laughed, his ruffled feathers act long gone. With it went his modesty. Lance moved past Pietro and unbuttoned his fly, kicking off his pants and shoving them and Pietro’s discarded shirt into the pile. Pietro debated the merits of leaving his clothing in Lance’s ever growing pile, but he lost interest in that when Lance dumped his shirt on top of it and walked over to his bedside, sitting on the edge. Pietro regarded him, and Lance picked his eyes up off the floor long enough to look back and make things feel awkward and too warm.

“So…” Lance said, looking at his hands. “Is it too forward to ask if you’re gonna stay the night?”  
  
“Really Lance? _Really_?”  
  
“Is that a yes or a no? I’m honestly not sure.”

Pietro sighed deeply, making a point of shaking his head. Lance huffed at him, muttering curse words under his breath, smiling slowly. He let Pietro push him back down on the bed, catching his narrow hips and hoisting him towards his spot near the wall. His arm swung lazily over Pietro’s side, pinning him in place. The mood had been well and truly murdered, but Pietro had learned quite a few things about Lance in the short time he was given. It wouldn’t take long, or much, if he just-

“No.” Lance murmured. “Cut that out.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“I know. But Todd’s still up. He’ll be up a while. As much as I want to, I don’t want to have to deal with another monster sighting.”

Like many mornings before, Lance kissed his forehead. He rose, shut the light, grabbed the blankets bunched at their legs, and pulled it over them both. His heavy arm snaked over Pietro’s side, drawing him in, which made Pietro very much regret his decision to change into pajamas instead of strip down like Lance was accustomed to. Even in the dark, Pietro could tell Lance hadn’t just shut his eyes just yet. He’d buried his head half in the flat pillow, rested his hand at the nape of Pietro’s neck, and began to stroke the sliver of skin above his collar.

“You know…” Lance said quietly after a moment, trailing his hand down Pietro’s spine. “I’m still not all that tired.”  
  
“Change of heart?”  
  
“No, no. I still think it’s a bad idea to go too far just yet but-” Lance’s voice dropped, close enough to puff against Pietro’s neck. “I think we could get away with making out a while… so long as you’re quiet.”  
  
“I think I can make due.” Pietro raised his chin up, shivering when Lance pressed open mouthed kisses in a line under his jaw. “It’s not going to make me think your bed is any better.”  
  
“You weren’t complaining before.”  
  
“I had a cushion. A pretty hard one, but something to soften the edges.”

Lance snorted against his skin and Pietro laughed in spite of himself. Lance cut him off, pressing lips to his, one hand already snaking under his shirt. Pietro wound his arms around his neck, fingers in Lance’s hair and stretched over the muscles in his back. It wasn’t the ending he wanted, or the one he expected, but if there was a sequel in the works for the following night, Pietro would take what he could get and make damn sure they survived until morning.


End file.
